The Shadows - Other Scenes
by adeepestblue
Summary: These are scenes and short stories that occur with the Shadows AU, however do not currently fall directly into the timeline of Shadows in the Light (the first full story I have going). These pieces will give you more insight into the history of characters and provide tidbits that will flesh out SITL even more.
1. War Room

_The pain, much like the tinny buzz of the machine, had a meditative quality. It had been hours already, with the artist switching between the pieces on his neck and shoulder and then back to the work on the most sensitive skin elsewhere. The cycle of burn and tingle with the cool relief of the wash cloth was surprisingly seductive, and he felt himself settling into an uncomfortable if overly alert haze. The artist's face, eyes squinted in acute concentration, floated in and out of line of sight but did not disrupt his waking meditation. The man had given up with idle conversation and instead seemed in his own zone as well, creating his artistry on the new and unique canvas of slightly pebbled and at times scale-flecked green skin with undertones that brightened the hues of his living artwork._

It had been several days since any of them had seen him. He hadn't even been to what Mikey affectionately referred to as their "war room": a large meeting room with two walls lined with interconnected tech, screens, and a wide circular cherry wood table in the center. The north wall was disrupted by punch holes and a few larger shell-sized concaved indents, evidence of the fights that happened in there over the years. The south was covered with newspaper clippings and police blotter notes, pictures of their informants and moles, and a white board with layered maps of the city. It was the east and west walls that hummed quietly with the electronics. They had a standing meeting every 3 days, and it wasn't unusual to find Leo in there, looking over the maps, changing notes, rereading blotters, or merely sitting with his penetrating blue eyes closed and shielded. But tonight was an introduction, so him not being the first one in the room but them all at different levels of unease.

As a joke, Mikey and Raph had ordered personalized name plates for them. Mikey still snickered whenever he entered the room and saw the wood and gold plaques emblazoned with the 'nicknames' the police gang squad had dubbed them with. _Commander. Chatterbox. Brawn. Don Techie_.

The three brothers stood around the table at their seats. It felt weird to sit before he was there with them. They each fidgeted slightly. Donnie lightly ran his fingers over wires and panels of tech on the wall behind him even though they all knew nothing needed checked or fixed. Raph shifted his bulk from left to right, crossing and uncrossing his arms and chuffing softly with each movement. His large muscles flexed and bounced under the lights. Mikey hummed a song off-tune, his baby blue eyes ticking back and forth between his two older brothers like he was watching a tennis match. He absently reached up and twirled the short bandana tassle that just skimmed his shoulder.

"Come on" started Mikey, "you know he disappears like this around … you know … this time." He finished the statement with a shrug and blink of his unassuming baby blue eyes, holding his palms up in a placating gesture to his two older siblings.

Raph huffed, shaking his head and shifting his bulk uneasily. "Yeah BUT not for this long. Come on guys, 3 whole days?! AND no check ins." He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, nodding his head. "We have to – "

"Don't", the soft yet steeled voice of the tallest brother cut into the air. He raised his light grey eyes and intently held the gaze of each other brother from his side of the table.

"He'll be here," he stated decidedly, turning to busy himself with the tech on the wall behind him. He could feel the weight of their gazes on his back but didn't dare turn around again lest his eyes betray his true feelings and worry.

Minutes ticked by. Raph started to pace. Mikey mimicked him from his side of the table, stopping when his bulky brother stopped, and started when he moved again. When Raph glanced sideways at his youngest brother, Mickey quickly turned his eyes to the ceiling, whistling innocently and kicking distractedly at the ground. All three stole quick peeks at the door to the room and then up to the clock above the whiteboard and maps.

Suddenly, Leo was in the room, watching them intently as he would any other day. But unlike every other day, once they turned to him all three of them froze, their jaws slackening at the sight of him.

Where his slightly ragged and familiar blue bandana had laid across his eyes only days before, there was now a detailed and striking tattoo. The tattoo was an intricate mask of blue on blue shading, and from a distance it would resemble greasepaint. But only a few feet away, the detail was startling. The shading and lines appeared like a water color, without the typical black outline for the tattoo, and was clearly done free form. The color swept elegantly around his eyes, including stray lines that looked like frays in material. Around his right eye, the scar tissue that was normally hidden under the material of his mask was a stark white and now clearly visible from his forehead, across his eye and curving onto his cheek. On the right side, the white kanji from his old mask had been included in the tattoo and stood out against the deeper, richer blue tones. It washed back from his eyes to wrap around his head. Down the left side of his neck, two tassles appeared to lay flush with his skin and then the ends fanned out, splaying across his left shoulder with slightly tattered edges. Faint white streaks ran here and there through the blues giving the illusion of movement and life. When Leo slightly shifted his weight to take a step forward, the tassles on his shoulder seemed alive.

Donnie stepped up to his stock still oldest brother, carefully yet casually invading the personal space that Leo had meticulously guarded over the past many years. He had rarely been this close to him except for combat and training. He had forgotten how his brother's calmness seemed to envelope him, and yet just beneath that veil ran an electric undercurrent of power. He had forgotten how his brother always smelled faintly of leather and cold morning air. He hunched slightly to inspect his brothers face, his eyes following the lines of the new tattoo. He couldn't help but marvel at the detail, the attention to shading, and just before he got lost in his wondering about the instrument used and specific colors and technique, Leo's icy eyes darted up and locked on his.

"But I thought you loved your mask," he asked softly, barely able to stop himself from reaching up to feel the pebbled texture of the tattoo.

"I did. I do." Leo's eyes never flinched. "But I couldn't wear the one he had given me anymore. I couldn't deal with taking that weight off." Donnie saw a barely perceptible shake in his brother's eyes. In his peripheral, he saw Raph's jaw snap shut and clench while Mikey's eyes gleamed with interest and a hint of envy.

"I couldn't deal with having to put that weight back on. To feel it...heavier." Leo broke eye contact and turned his head, coolly twisting away and back from his taller brother.

"Now I don't have to."

Leo sat down in his seat and steepled his fingers, splitting the view of his face for his brothers. His tendency to rub his eye ridges and temples temporarily stifled due to the dull ache of his healing skin. His brothers exchanged slow glances before taking their seats at the table. Just as Mikey bumped into his large chair, leaning forward eagerly, clearly with a thousand questions ready to burst past his lips, Leo's lips curled into a lazy half smile.

"Don't worry Mikey," he said, his voiced warmed with a touch of amusement. "I have set up an artist in each of your apartment's for the rest of today and tomorrow. We still have an introduction to do tonight though. Do whatever you want."

Raph's eyes immediately widened with surprise and then delight. He looked across at Mikey, and impulsively reached out a beefy hand to fist bump. Mikey had to lean out of his chair to reach across, but gleefully knocked knuckles with his brother and then bounced back into his chair. Leo's icy eyes flicked immediately to his youngest brother, and he gingerly cocked an eye ridge but didn't stop smiling.

"Mikeeey," he drew out his brother's name until his smallest sibling looked at him. "Yours is a woman, against my better judgment. She is _guest_ Mikey. Hopefully I don't have to explain what that means…?"

Mikey's eyes grew wider still, twinkling with innocence and mock dismay. He dramatically placed his hand over his heart like it had been broken, gasping deeply. He looked around to see his other brothers looking at him intently, both with arched eye ridges.

"WHAT?!"


	2. Every Night

Scene

He didn't know the exact moment when coming to her nightly became routine. When it became as normal and essential as breathing. As entrenched in his routine as putting on his mask each day. But it had.  
Every night, no matter what happened during the dark overnight hours, he came. No matter what the injuries or what pieces he had to put back together in his own or his brothers' psyches, he came. Even when dangerously close to dawn, even as the sliver of pinkish yellow light threaded through the streets and alleys, curling around every corner and curve of the city, he came.  
Some nights it was only for a few minutes. Others he could steal hours. Most nights he could at least lay down. Every night he held her.  
He would silently traverse the fire escape, checking to see if any of the upper joints needed greasing to keep his movements muted. Through the large bay window, gently pushing it open on quiet hinges and closing it behind him. On the good nights, when exhaustion hadn't yet crept into his bones, he would strip off his gear and lay it down on the sleek wooden floor below the bay window. Other nights, the gear would thud and clang to the floor, only slightly muted if he remembered to drop it on the rug in the middle of the room. Those nights he would lurch across the room to her, feeling the weight and strain of each muscle as he slid carefully on to the bed. The good nights were ones in which he could still startle her.  
He would wrap his arms around her, pulling her to him. Generally it was a gentle and open hold. He would softly kiss her shoulder or the very back of her neck before huffing out a deep breath, resting his chin and cheek within the crook of her neck. He could feel her smile and cover his large, scaled hands with her smaller smooth ones. Sometimes he told her abo9ut the night and sometimes she told him about her day. Sometimes, they would just lay there.  
Other nights were different. He would slide on to the bed and paw for her, desperately seeking her comfort and familiar shape. His hold would be tight, his muscles bunching from the effort. He would pull her quickly and tightly against him, pressing her back and shoulders against his thick plastron so he could feel and count her heartbeats. He would slide his legs to form the same shape of her, pressing against the backs of her thighs, trying to mold himself against her and feel all of her at once. He would try to envelope her in himself. He would kiss her shoulder, kiss the back of her neck, and then bury his face into the side of her neck. He would desperately hold her, squeezing his eyes shut against everything else.  
He would cry sometimes, the hollow of her neck being the only safe place in his entire world to lay open and vulnerable. It would shake the bed, and she would say nothing, merely hold his arms and lace her five fingers among his three until the tremors eased.  
He knew he needed these moments. He needed them more than his meditation, more than his training, more than any skill he possessed.  
And some nights he shook from the deep terror that closed around his heart at the thought of losing her.


End file.
